Without Rhiannon in the house it's become painfully aware that I have nothing in common with my roomies. Especially not Morph who gave me a Christmas card that said, Santa isn't real, but Jesus is
There's suddenly a vast expanse of time in the evening that I used to spend ranting and raving to Rhi about the latest pile of unwashed dishes or Mysterious Pubic Hair, because a pube shared is pube halved. But now we speak on the phone a few times a week and I'm reminded how alarming fast things are changing at the moment, our lives branching off in all sorts of crazy directions.
I'm getting the hang of Solo Shopping. If I plan ahead and put my debit card in my coat pocket I can whip it out quickly, avoiding purse-rummaging and cashier eye-rolling. It occurred to me tonight when I noticed that I'd once again filled the trolley with yogurt and ingredients for vegie chilli, that I could get even more efficient with the grocery shop if I just bought the same thing every week. Then I could just cook the same thing every week. I could live off the motherload of chilli for days on end! And with well-timed dashes to the microwave, I'd be able to avoid getting trapped in dreary kitchen conversations.
Tonight's shop was slowed down a little by the Rhiannon Memorial Coat. She didn't want it anymore so I snaffled it, even thought it's a size too small, particularly snug in the arms. It's white with a fluffy collar, so imagine a furry, partially immobile marshmellow. It's very warm though, and as long as I have a good approach it's not overly hard for me to sit down while wearing it. I didn't take it off while shopping, coz then I'd have to waste time wrestling back into it. So I just had to make sure not to buy anything on a high shelf.
As I was shuffling out with my shopping I passed a harrassed looking mother with two little boys. One of them had just learned a new word and was determined to say it as much as possible even though he didn't know what it meant.
"You've got SEX!" he cackled to his brother. "SEX!"
He tugged his mothers hand, "You've got SEX!". He said it gleefully like it was a terrible disease.
He stopped right in front and peered up at me, "YOU'VE got SEX!"
"Ha! Fat chance in this coat."
On the bus home a bunch of students got on at the university campus, looking very young and serious. Why do university students look so serious? I guess it's so you use up all your seriousness quota then, so in later years when you wind up doing apparently serious things like getting married, all you're able to do is laugh hysterically.
My ponderings were interrupted when the bus driver suddenly slammed on the brakes, sending one of my shopping bags flying off the seat. I was powerless to stop it, bereft of movable arms in the Rhiannon Memorial Coat. A pot of yogurt landed SPLAT in the middle of the aisle and exploded everywhere.
"WHOA!" I said very loudly, just like Keanu Reeves.
The students all stared at me as I slowly slid off my seat and tried to manoeuver myself low enough to pick up the pot with robot arms. What possessed me to say WHOA? Was it to convince these kids I was just as cool as them? What would their generation know about Keanu anyway?
As I kneeled in the aisle and swatted at the mess with tissues, I couldn't move my hand quick enough to stop the word popping out again, "WHOA!". It's time to start buying groceries online.